Tainted Survival
by Gater101
Summary: Part Nine. As she looks up at the name, he wonders what the hell is going on.
1. Prologue

Title: Tainted Survival  
Summary: AU. He's not sure he would have survived if it hadn't been for her, the stranger in his cell.  
Rating: K for now  
Characters: Mostly Sheppard and Teyla.  
Pairing: Sheppard/Teyla, Sheppard/Weir, Teyla/Kanan  
Spoilers: None, really, as this takes place instead of season one.

**Prologue **

There was an uneasy hush descending upon him and he was sure he heard his laboured breathing echoing in the large, spartan room. He eyed the woman next to him, trying to convey to her all the things he'd tried to teach her since their forced meeting almost six months before. He needed her to be ready for this because he wasn't sure he could handle another failed attempt at escape.

She stared back at him, strong, steady and understanding and he smiled slightly as the nervousness flickered past her mask. She'd told him how her people had never known heroism like his but he didn't know if he would call his survival instinct that. The hair that had been long, swinging around her waist when he'd stumbled into their shared prison cell had been shorn by their captors and was hanging limply around her jaw line, accenting the features he'd come to know.

He tuned back into his surroundings, listening for the sounds of the soldiers moving around, keeping an eye out for any shadows that kept across the wall. Despite his basic training – and the training his partner had given him – he still didn't feel comfortable fighting his way out of a complex that he couldn't navigate through and that was filled with enemies that took great pleasure in torturing victims with his P-90 being substituted for two sticks. He shifted the weight of the hastily made 'bantos sticks', as she'd called them – and closed his eyes.

All the planning had to pay off this time because he wasn't sure he could handle going through _that _again. He wasn't sure he could handle living. He conjured up the face that had brought him solace in this past six months and smiled, feeling his breathing even out, his lungs sighing in grateful thanks. He opened his eyes and saw his fellow prisoner, Teyla Emmagan, crouched across from him, her own eyes closed.

The girl was good, for one who came from a farming world. He hadn't known anyone like her and he was pretty sure that even Elizabeth Weir's face wouldn't have helped him survive if Teyla hadn't been there beside him. She was a constant in his mind, always seemed to be fine with whatever their captors did to them. He'd watched over her as their captors had killed more and more of her people, and she'd tended to him when the team he'd come through the 'Gate with had been picked off. Eventually it had only been the two of them and for the past three months they'd come to depend on the other for survival.

He waited until she opened her eyes before indicating that they were ready to move. She nodded, shifted her weight. He glanced around, listened for another moment then nodded. Quickly, stealthily they ran, staying as low as they could, trying to avoid the small groups of soldiers. The shuffling of their feet echoed through the room and he was sure that they would be caught but they didn't stop.

She pulled up short of their destination and he almost bumped into the back of her, knocking her off balance. He gripped onto her waist and pulled her back against him tightly, holding his breath as a group of soldiers marched past their position. He waited for a few minutes after they passed before he let her go. She moved away from him slightly and ducked her head.

"Thank you," she murmured and he nodded back at her.

"You're welcome." He glanced past her into the empty corridor. He had no idea where they were heading, but he knew it was the right direction. "Come on," he whispered and grabbed onto her hand, pulling her to her feet behind him.

They couldn't stop now. They'd gone too far to turn back and John Sheppard knew that he wasn't going back to that cell alive.


	2. Part 1

_To die, to sleep; —  
__To sleep, perchance to dream: — ay, there's the rub;  
__For in that slee__p of death what dreams may come_

The eyes he awakens to are not the ones he was dreaming of. The brown orbs he'd come accustomed to were replaced with blues that he'd known for so long. His breathing is shallow, his body slick with a thin layer of sweat. At least this time he's not screaming, though his pounding heart is louder than he's ever heard it. Her hand is on his forehead, cool and gentle and he closes his eyes at her touch, trying to calm his body.

"You were dreaming again."

It's more of a question than a statement and he sits up slowly, forcing her hand from his head. It comes to rest gently on his arm, just above his elbow and when he looks at it, it's not as pale as he knows it should be. A blink and then it's as porcelain as it always had been. He stares straight ahead to the blank wall in front of him, his knees tucked to his chest, arms slung around them. He nods in reply to her question, turning away from her, shuffling to the edge of the bed and planting his feet on floor. A shudder runs up his body as the coolness seeps into his warm body.

"I'm going for a walk," he murmurs and stands up, only his subconscious mind registering the gentle sigh that escapes her lips.

The quiet halls of the old city of the Ancestors always served well to calm his racing mind. His bare feet slap against the floor, echoing across the hallways and he revels in the stillness of the night. He can feel the restful of the city seep into his bones but it does little to calm his troubled mind. He'd dreamed of her since his return – felt her strong arms pushing him through the 'Gate with promises of following him that she'd ever got to carry out.

The doors swished open as he stepped up to them and he was greeted with the familiar sights and sounds of the sea and sky. The waves whispered against the piers, the swells lulling the each other to slumber. The warm air wafted against his skin, misty with salty droplets of sea, cooling his temperate brow. The inky sky was streaked with thin strands of gray and silver, rose and lavender; nebula and clouds. Tiny crystals scattered across the deep velvet, winking at him, easing him with their sense of familiarity.

It had killed him not seeing the stars while he'd been held captive. They were his reprieve from a world of constant change, they reassured him that he was in a safe place. He hadn't had that on Genoa. He gulped, his eyes closing of their own accord as the image played out on the blank canvas of his mind. It was futile to resist them and he lowered himself to ground, propped up by a wall at his back.

Sleep would not come easy.

--

The Wraith hadn't taken all of the life from the young boy and both John Sheppard and Aiden Ford wished it had. The lieutenant lay in John's arms, a withered husk, his skin leathered and dry. John knew this was a worse torture than the feeding. It was torture for him and for Aiden. John was the leader, his people being picked off one by one underneath him until he told them what they wanted.

He wasn't sure how many Wraith they'd managed to capture, nor was he sure how. But they had and it frightened John. He didn't know his captors but they certainly knew him – knew of Atlantis and its great power. And they wanted it.

"Sir..."

John looked down to the cracked lips of his team mate and felt hatred well up within him again. Ford was too young for this! He didn't deserve the fate that was fit for no one, not even John's worst enemies.

"Ford," he replied with a lightness he did not feel.

"Do it..."

John shook his head.

"I can't."

"You..." he coughed and John hissed at the hollowness of it, the emptiness. "You did it for Colonel Sumner."

John closed his eyes against the guilt the memory of his words conjured. It was not something he was proud of but he knew it was all that could have been done. This was different.

"This time, I actually can't." He thought he saw Ford frown but he wasn't sure. "I haven't got the means."

From the far corner where the other prisoners were, he heard a shuffling sound as one of them stood. They hadn't interacted much with the others, knowing that they would no doubt be dead the next day anyway; there was no point in exchanging pleasantries. A woman came towards them slowly, her head lowered as she fiddled about with something on her waist. In the dimness, John couldn't see what it was but when the single shard of light caught the reflective surface he knew what it was.

"It is something I have done for many of my people," she told him as she handed the knife to him. He wondered where she got it from but didn't question it as he took it from her. He studied her for a moment, held her steady gaze until she nodded resolutely and turned back to where she'd come from. She paused and turned her head to him slightly, her dark eyes catching his once more. "It is the right thing to do."

He waited for long minutes before turning back to Ford, who shuddered in another breath. He looked questioningly at the younger man who nodded slowly, resolutely. But John faltered. How would he live with himself if he did this? Chances are he wouldn't live long enough to have the regret eat away at him.

He'd want someone to do it for him.

"It was an honour, sir..." Ford groaned as John and two of the other marines turned him into his back.

John closed his eyes for a second, a cold fist clamping his gut in a tight grasp. He opened his eyes only long enough to manoeuvre the knife to the base of the young man's skull, at the tip of his spine. John only hoped the blade was long enough to pierce right through to his heart. He spared a glance to the two marines on either sad who nodded sadly before closing their eyes as they held the withered body up by its shoulders.

"Goodbye, Aiden..."

He closed his eyes as he thrust the blade into his neck.

The feeling would haunt him forever.


	3. Part 2

_To die, to sleep, —  
__No more; and by a sleep to say we end  
__The __heart-ache,__ and the thousand natural shocks  
__That flesh is heir to, — 'tis a consummation  
__Devoutly to be __wish'd..._

His eyes blink open and the first sensation to hit him is the rolling in his gut. He rolled to his side and wretched but only the thick, rancid bile escaped his lips. He hovered there for a few seconds before he felt the hand on his back. He spun back around and noticed for the first time that he was lying between someone's legs, chest to chest. He scrambled to move but the burning sensation in his feet halted his movements and he let out a loud groan of pain.

"They have pierced your feet with a burning rod." He winced and his toes curled involuntarily, sending searing pain through his feet, right up his leg. "I have tended to the wounds as best I can but..." He nodded and sat up straighter, wincing again as his head throbbed. He reached a hand up and it still upon contact with skin. "They shorned your hair."

John gagged again, his body hunching forward and he felt her shuffle out from behind him. Her soothing hands assumed position on his back and rubbed in gentle circles. John groaned.

"What did they give me?" She shrugged and he got a look at her for the first time. He frowned. "You're the one that gave me the knife." She nodded and lowered her eyes. He eyed her for a few moments, taking in her tanned skin and mousy brown hair. She reminded him of someone but he wasn't quite sure who it was. "Thank you." She looked up and smiled tightly, her eyes filling with tears that he did not question. She blinked and they were gone. Silence descended again and John shuffled back against the fall, sighing as his pained feet dragged across the floor. "Where are the others?"

She looked up at him from her position at his feet and shrugged, looking around as though she had only just noticed that there was no one else.

"The last of my people were taken some time ago and I have been alone since. You are the only person whom I have seen in many days."

John nodded. They had separated the large mass of people into groups and knocked them out to transport them. John wasn't sure how long had passed since then; night and day were obscured from their sight and John assumed they were in an underground facility; their watches had been amongst the gear to be taken from them. He hissed as she peeled back the strip of fabric from around his foot and she looked up to him apologetically.

"How bad is it?"

She pursed her lips and prodded his foot with her finger and John tried not to flinch away. He could feel that burning sensation again and he closed his eyes as his vision started to blur.

"If it does not become infected, it will heal in time."

"So no marathons for me anytime soon." She looked up at him when he opened his eyes and he could almost hear the question on her lips. He shook his head and immediately regretted the decision as his vision faded around the edges. "Doesn't matter." His words sounded slurred to him and his tongue was heavy. He tried to lick his suddenly dry lips but it was futile. He felt her hand on his head, cool against his feverish brow. He gasped for air as he felt his lungs seize and he could barely make out the words she was speaking to him.

He stopped resisting the pull and let the darkness consume him.

--

Teyla stumbled as they pushed her into the dingy room they'd pulled her from hours before. The door shuddered shut before she even had a chance to get back to her feet. She pounded against it for a few minutes before sinking to her knees, defeated. Tears sprung to her eyes unbidden and she hid her face in her hands.

At least the cool tears soothed her burning palms.

She fought off the tears and willed herself to be strong; there was no use in crying over something she had no control in. She tugged the remnants of her ripped shirt together and hissed in pain as her fingers brushed over the swollen abrasion on her chest. Gingerly, she touched it with her index finger, feeling around it for any broken bones. With the force with which that thing had hit her, she's almost positive something had broken. She cried out in pain as her fingers pushed against the crack in her chest bone and the tears rolled down her face once more.

She would rather they killed her along with the rest of her people. Knowing that she was the last of her people was more painful than any physical torture they could impact on her. Still, the tears did not subside, no matter how much she willed them.

She didn't know how long she sat there, hunched up in the corner, knees drawn to her chest before she heard the low moaning from the other side of the room. She sat up, startled then remembered the man she'd tended to before. She had not expected to be returned to his room, so his presence was unexpected yet reassuring. She dragged herself across the floor, careful not to use the singed palms of her hands until he came into view. The room was dimmer than she remembered and she could not see his features properly.

The infection had taken him captive many hours before she'd been dragged from their cell and she'd tried keep him calm and still as his fever gripped him. She could see that it had not yet subsided. She frowned as he thrashed around, arms flailing at the side of his body and she reached out to touch his arm, to try and soothe him. He went rigid at her touch and for a moment she was sure he would retaliate with brutal force but his murmurs subsided and his head lulled back on its side. She sighed and adjusted her seating to alleviate the pressure in her chest. She shuffled in behind him once more and lifted his head, laying it on her abdomen. He sighed and grumbled a few words but rested quickly.

She sighed and closed her eyes, wishing that the darkness would consume her. Instead, she opened her eyes and placed her hand on the man's warm, sweaty head and sighed. His fever was not alleviating and she was beginning to worry. She watched his face as it twitched and stroked her fingers against his brow, hoping to soothe his worries.

She jerked away when she felt his clammy hand on her wrist but, despite his feverish state, his grip was strong. She looked to his eyes and saw that they were looking at her, but she knew he wasn't seeing her.

"Elizabeth?" He asked with a shaky voice.

Teyla frowned. Clearly, his feverish state was altering his mind she realised. She hesitated only for a moment before forcing a smile onto her face and nodding. The desperation in his tone told her that this person meant a lot to him. She returned her fingers to his brow when he released his grip on her wrist, flinching only slightly when he tucked himself closer to her body. Her chest wheezed as she breathed out but she didn't stop her ministrations.

Within moments, his breathing had altered again and she knew that he was at rest, if only for a while. She tried to adjust his weight and the movement squeezed the broken bone together and she let out a low groan and jerked her body. She froze when the man in her lap shifted again, wrapping an arm around her hip.

"I'm so glad you're here..." she heard him murmur through the roaring of blood in her ears.

She groaned again as blackness crept into her vision and her head lolled against the wall behind her.

Before the welcomed darkness claimed her completely, she realised she did not even know his name.


	4. Part 3

_My conscience hath a thousand several tongues,  
__And every __tongue brings __in a several tale..._

-

At first it had been the heat. He'd been sure he'd never experienced anything quite like it as the midday sun scorched down on the ground at 103 degrees Fahrenheit, turning the sand beneath his feet into burning hot coals, blinding him with a haze thicker than fog. The sweat poured from him like rain from a cloud. It did little to cool him underneath layer upon layer of field gear. Then it had been the smell. The stale sweat had been sickening but as far out in the dessert as he was, it was the lingering stench of decaying human flesh, heightened by the high temperatures that permeated his nostrils and made him gag dryly into a dune on the sand. He'd long since stopped thinking of the figures around his hut as his friends, his comrades. They were casualties of war, quickly liquefying in the boiling Afghani heat. He knew though that the smell was not only coming from them but some of the insurgents across the dunes and he was almost glad that there were casualties – fatalities – on both sides. Then it had been the never ending bombardment of gun fire that hit the other side of the dune he was hiding behind, the calls for his surrender that he knew he'd never give in to. One bullet had grazed his side and he knew infection wasn't far off. Swirls of sand blew into his face, biting at the tender sun burned skin and all he could think about was Aloe Vera; he could smell it whenever the wind changed direction and the rancid stench of human flesh was blown the other way, he could feel it on his hands and he even raised them to his face to rub the cool cream over his skin only to find his hands warm and dry – a far cry from the soothing gel he'd expected.

_No one gets left behind_.

He knew they were coming for him. It was the only thing he could think about because if he gave up hope, he would never make it out of there. They would come for him. They had to.

He closed his eyes and adjusted his goggles, a few grains of sand blowing into the space they'd so far been unable to reach. When he opened his eyes, he saw her again – the strange mirage that had appeared to him on numerous occasions in the last couple of days. She knelt beside him, and her tawny hair blew against his face – more soothing than any cream he could ever imagine. Her gentle words encouraged him, told him he would be okay and that his people were coming for him. And he believed her. When he looked into her dark, chocolate like eyes he wondered how he could ever dream up such a woman. He wondered if perhaps he had seen her in one of the market places dotted around the capital Kabul, or if she was entirely created by his subconscious. She sat beside him and oozed calmness, her cool fingers stroking his fiery forehead, soothing him.

She made the desserts of Afghanistan bearable.

When he opened his eyes again, waking from the slumber she'd coerced him into, the sandy dunes of Afghanistan has dissipated, leaving him in a dark cell, damp and murky, full of shadows and coldness. His skin felt clammy and there were no windows but he knew he was not in Afghanistan. Had he been rescued? – Or captured? He knew full well the Taliban's methods of torture and although he knew the former was unlikely, he wished beyond all hope that it wasn't the latter. He tried to sit up but his palms burned, the pain in his feet searing hot like he'd walked across the burning dunes in his bare feet. The constant drip, drip, drip from the corner drew his attention there but he could see little in the eerie darkness. He did not call out as he ground his teeth against the pain in his hands as he pushed against them and urged himself into a sitting position against the wall. His whole body ached, feeling as though every nerve end had been singed with heat or electricity. He closed his eyes again and tried to even his breathing, the pain in his lungs almost excruciatingly unbearable.

He jerked and grabbed onto the hand that touched his arm, his other hand rising instinctively to the intruder's neck and he heard a gasp. He tightened his grip and tried to see the figure through the darkness and as his eyes adjusted, he found he recognised the outline of the figure. He released his grasp and she dropped to her hands and knees, gasping for breath, gasping in what sounded like painful breaths.

"I did not mean to startle you..." the voice murmured and when he heard it he knew that it was her, the stranger in the dessert.

"Where am I?" He demanded in the strongest voice he could, although it gave his pain away as he rasped out the last word.

"You are still in the cell; they have not moved us again."

He frowned. He didn't remember being moved before but he knew he must have been. Surely he wasn't unconscious the whole time. He closed his eyes and tried to remember.

"Do you work for the Taliban?" He asked through gritted teeth, his voice harsh as he could make it.

"I... I do not know what that means. We both have been captured... You're people and mine." He felt the fingers of recollection tickling at the back of his mind but the memories stayed firmly out of reach. "Our captors have fed our people to the Wraith they have captured..."

Memory came flooding back to him with a gasp and he lurched forward, his head aching with the pain of the assault on his mind. Images of Ford withered and dry begging for John to end his life; of Gannat and Peterson screaming in agony before his eyes as the Wraith sucked the life from them in slow, agonising torture; of their first, second and third failed attempts at escape that only resulted in more torture for them. He'd been here for far too long. Elizabeth should have found them by now. Restlessness, pain, frustration, despair all assuaged his body and he tried to hold back the sob of anguish that threatened to burst from his lips.

"You have had a fever for several days. It finally broke some time ago." She rasped out and he finally looked back up at her noting how she clung to her chest and screwed her eyes shut as she breathed in.

"The dessert..." he murmured and shook his head. It had seemed so real. He had been so sure that he'd been back in Afghanistan, so sure that he'd still to escape. Then he frowned as his eyes took in her features again, the features that he now recognised so completely and realisation dawned with a side dish of scepticism.

She'd been in Afghanistan with him all those years ago. He was sure of it. It had been her features, her voice that had helped him survive until the others from the unit swooped in and scooped him up. He'd forgotten about her.

He shook his head as he reached out to touch her, stopping his hand before it made contact. There was no way he'd conjured up her image in his mind all those years ago – his fever must have altered his memories, or the dreams he was having must have influenced his recollection of the woman. She was from another galaxy.

She groaned in pain and he frowned in her direction, concern marring his features and his thoughts.

"Are you all right?" He asked but did not move towards her as she shuffled to lean against the wall beside him, tears spilling from her eyelids. She shook her head and he shifted so he was facing her. "What's wrong?"

She shifted, groaned and winced in pain, her hand still gripping her chest. It was then he realised the shirt she wore was torn.

"The bone in my chest is broken." He shifted closer to her, his face scrunching with concern. She looked to him and he started at the familiarity of her gaze as she smiled tightly, shaking her head. "There is nothing to be done; it must mend on its own."

He nodded and watched her for a few more moments. He pursed his lips and shifted, holding in his own groan of pain as he shrugged off his somewhat torn and shoddy - but still zip-able - field jacket and held it out to her. She looked first at him then the jacket then him again with a look that pierced a hole right through his defences. She smiled, eventually, in gratitude and he held her as she leaned forward, her shoulder resting against his chest as he helped her into the jacket. He let her zip it herself and eased her back, his eyes taking in her bloody and battered features. She wheezed when she breathed and he wished there was something more he could do for her.

Instead, he shuffled back to his spot against the wall, his shoulder resting against hers, his head lolling back against the dank wall behind him. An easy silence fell between them as thoughts flitted across the others mind. He tried not to think of things he could not change. He tried to forget the memories that his fever induced mind had regurgitated, forget the pain and the smell and the heat and the uncanny vision of the woman beside him on the sand dunes. He tried to conjure Elizabeth's face, pure and loving but her features had faded, leaving her indescribable to his minds' eye. He didn't like that.

"They have not come for several days." John tilted his head towards her but did not look in her direction, fearful she'd erase more of Elizabeth's features from his mind. "I fear that now you are awake, they will come again."

John turned to stare at her for a moment but when she didn't look back, he turned towards the door again. He shifted and pushed the thoughts of their captors from his mind, preferring to think of things less malicious. He tried to picture Elizabeth again, tried to draw her features back onto the blank canvas of her face. Her voice echoed in his head but it was dim, her words hollow.

He shifted again as the woman did the same, resting against one another more heavily. They sat like that, side by side, legs straight out in front of them until they drifted off to sleep once more, thoughts of rescue, of survival migrating from consciousness to the other.


	5. Part 4

_Grief affects none but those left behind to bear it.  
_Tainted Survival, part 4

"Elizabeth."

Startled, she looked up from the tablet in front of her and settled her eyes on the scientist.

"Rodney," she acknowledged him with a smile and a nod, setting the tablet on her workstation. She hadn't done any work on it for some time now, her mind wondering to things that – as the base commander – she shouldn't let cloud her judgement. There was so much going on in the base at that moment, that she'd felt a little requiem in her office to catch up on some paper work would be the thing to take her mind off it. She had, in fact, been very wrong. The quiet stillness of her office after she had closed the door had only seemed to encourage her wandering thoughts and wander they did. She couldn't quite keep her mind from her lost team (three, actually), the pending Wraith attack, or the fact that the IOA wanted to send someone to the base and oversee her running of the place. She groaned at the thought, raising a hand to the bridge of her nose, futilely hoping to ease the tension there.

"Working hard I see," Rodney uttered from where he still hovered in the doorway. She smiled sheepishly and turned the tablet in his direction, letting him see the abandoned game of solitaire adorned on the screen. He smiled tightly and nodded. "I understand." Elizabeth pondered that. So often the Canadian seemed self-centred but ever since his team had gone off world (and gone missing) without him, she's seen a change in him. He was very, very bad at the comforting thing – she knew from firsthand experience and she could see it now in the way he hovered uncertainly in the doorway. "That's what I ended up doing last night, too," he continued, still nodding. "You know when I..." He trailed off, shifting his eyes around the room and Elizabeth offered him relief.

"What can I do for you Rodney?" She asked as she leaned forward, clasping her hands on the tabletop.

"Oh!" He replied, as though only just remembering he had come to her for a reason. "I have something to show you." He pointed behind him and had turned, following his own gesture and Elizabeth stood and hurriedly followed after him.

"What is it Rodney?"

"Well, I was thinking about this at breakfast this morning and ran a few simulations to see if it would work. With a few adjustments I managed to get it right," he told her quickly, in that way that only Rodney could.

"Get what right?" She asked as she hovered over him as he tapped a few buttons on his laptop, watching one of the larger screens in front of him. She started when he brought up the sub space, long range sensors and groaned when she saw the red flashing light. "Is that what I think it is?"

"It depends on what you think it is." She stared at him, at the half smirk on his face and it quickly fell as he nodded. "Right. Well, you know the Daedalus has been stopping off every few hours since it arrived in Pegasus, searching for any signals from... from Colonel Sheppard's team's sub coetaneous transmitters?" She nodded. Of course she did, she had been the one to order it as soon as Colonel Caldwell's ship had come into radio contact almost two weeks ago. "Well, there's only so much they can do, and it's taking too long." She didn't want to ponder what he meant by that; she knew all too well. "Well, I modified our sensors, boosted their reception and picked up this." He pointed to the flashing dot on the screen and Elizabeth let herself feel a small surge of hope. She looked to him questioningly though she did not need him to answer; not from the excited expression on his face. "It's... well it's transmitting on the correct frequency and..."

She nodded, smiled and let out a breath of relief.

"Why didn't you try this before?"

He flinched, looked away and tapped the table and Elizabeth had a feeling she wasn't going to like what he had to say.

"Well, I did and I didn't pick up anything." She dipped her head as she stared at him, urging him to continue. "Maybe the signal was too weak, or maybe they've just moved into a region of space where one of our relay systems can pick them up, I don't know but that," he said excitedly, almost anxiously, "is one of our transmitter signals."

She stared at the screen for a while, watching the circles radiate from the centre of the dot. She could hope that it was them – hell, she already was – but she didn't want to get too excited. It could be anything – it could be a trap. Someone could have gained access to the transmitters and turned it on and left it for them to find, awaiting an ambush. Hell, they'd had John's team for long enough – anything was possible.

Then a thought, fear inducing, struck her and she turned to Rodney who still had that anxiously excited stare to his face.

"Why is there only one?" She didn't need him to explain the look on his face. "Right." She paused. "It could be a trap."

Rodney nodded as though she was stating the obvious.

"Yes, or it could be real and they could need our help."

It was unlike Rodney to be so optimistic and it let Elizabeth see just how much this was affecting him, too. John was one of Rodney's closest friends, as well as her lover but sometimes she forgot that. As she stared at him now, she could feel what he going through. He was staring at her, his looking pleading and hopeful and she found her will crumbling under his stare.

"All right. I'll ask Major Lorne's team – but I'm not ordering them the Daedalus can-"

"No need, ma'am." She turned to Lorne who she hadn't noticed was standing at the other side of the control room with the rest of his team. "We're ready to gear up on your order." She waited a moment, glancing at Rodney then to Lorne's determined face and she sighed, smiled and tried not to show too much of the pride that was coursing through her at her team's courage.

"All right. We'll radio the Daedalus have them pick you up from a nearby planet and transport you there. At least that way you'll have back up." Lorne nodded and waited a few seconds to see if she had anything else to add. "Take as many teams as you want." He nodded, smarted an unnecessary salute and walked off, the rest of his team following. Rodney paused a moment before making to follow them, too. "Rodney, I want you to stay."

He stopped and pivoted on his heel, staring at her.

"But-"

"No buts, Rodney. This is a military operation." She could see the argument on his face before he could even speak and she raised her eyebrow at him. "No Rodney."

"It's my team, Elizabeth!" He said quietly, the hurt evident in his voice.

She glanced around the control room to the faces who were pretending not to be interested in their conversation. She signalled to her office and Rodney preceded her, his head bowed, voice quiet. She closed the door behind her and leaned against it for a second before moving around to sit in her seat.

"Rodney, you said yourself not even a couple of days ago that you're not special ops trained. This is a special ops mission." She knew he knew she was right but she could still see the argument in his eyes. "I know how you feel, Rodney. You're just lucky you only have to experience this this one time."

She the realisation dawn and he looked away.

"How are you doing?" He asked eventually and Elizabeth was touched by the care that resounded from the question. "I've been so wrapped up in trying to... well, eating, mostly and trying to find a way to get them back... find a way to get them... I forget sometimes that-"

"It's all right Rodney," she said quietly, her voice thick. She didn't want to think about what it would mean if the transmitter they found was on a body and if the body was John Sheppard. As a leader, she knew it was wrong to favour one of her people over the others but she cared for John Sheppard – she was pretty sure she loved him and the thought that he might never be coming back... well, it was tearing her apart. She reached her hand out and covered Rodney's with it, calming both of their suddenly erratic nerves. "Thank you."

He blushed slightly and she smiled when he flustered in his answer to her. He really was very bad at this sort of stuff. He stood, brushed his hands down his trousers and bid her farewell. She returned the small wave he sent her then bowed her head. She needed a few minutes to collect her thoughts before contacting Daedalus and finding their co-ordinates so she could send Lorne and his teams through the 'Gate to him.

"Oh, and Elizabeth?" She looked up, the smile questioning. "We'll find him."

She smiled honestly this time but he was gone before he could see it. She looked down, gulped at the new lump in her throat and blinked back the tears.

They had to find him. All of them.


	6. Part 5

_"Oft expectation fails, and most oft there  
__Where__ most it promises; and oft it hits  
__Where hope is coldest, and despair most fits." _

"Do you truly believe your friends will come for you?"

John tried to sit up but the ache in his head intensified and he didn't protest when she urged his head back into her lap. He groaned as her fingers brushed against his temple and closed his eyes in an attempt to stop the room from spinning.

_"Elizabeth! Elizabeth! Stop it!__ Let go of her, you bastard!__" He resisted against the straps holding him to the chair but it was no use, they held fast. __He could hear her sobbing as they lashed at her with horse reins that John recognised from one of the farms he'd grown up on. __He knew she couldn't be her__e__, that they must have drugged him but she seem__ed so real, begging them to stop. __Her eyes turned to his, pained tears streaking across her cheeks. __He closed his eyes against the sigh__t. _

"Yeah..." He sighed and looked up at her, her face lacerated in a few places. He tried to lift his hand up to her cheek and touch the marks but his arm wouldn't move; it screamed in pain instead. He lowered it and looked away from her, towards the glow that was emanating through the gaps at the edge of the doorway. "What about you?" He asked eventually, his voice quiet and worn from too much shouting.

He saw her shake her head and he rolled from her and let her help him prop his back against the wall. His whole body ached in a way he'd never thought possible.

"All of my people were brought here."

She didn't say anything else and he didn't need her to. He knew what she meant. They'd all been killed, along with the members of his team. He rested his hand on her knee and she jerked at the contact but smiled tightly, looking away from him again. He withdrew his touch and she sighed, dropping her head.

"Don't worry," he told sincerely, his voice stronger than he felt. "Rodney will have figured out where we are and Elizabeth will send four, maybe five teams of Marines, the Daedalus – maybe even Ronon and they'll get us out here." He turned back to her, hoping the smile on his face was more sincere than the tone of his voice had been. She didn't look at him. "You can come back with us, until you find somewhere else to go." She nodded once and glanced to him, a glimmer of a smile lighting her features.

"Thank you."

"We don't leave our people behind." She frowned in his direction and he tilted his head in question. "What?"

"I am not one of your people," she reminded him but he waved her away with a flick of his fingers.

"You are now."

She ducked her head, smiling shyly up at him and he couldn't help but smile back.

"Thank you."

"No problem."

He settled against the wall a little more and turned his head to her, telling her to do the same. She settled against him, the arm of her (his) jacket brushing against his sensitive skin. She touched his hand with a delicate finger.

"You are cold."

"Yeah well they don't exactly have central heating in here, do they?" He saw the frown tempting across her brow but he shook his head before she could ask the question. "Never mind."

She wrapped one arm around his, the other sliding across his waist and he didn't have the heart to tell her that her touch was irritating his sensitised skin; she gave him welcomed warmth that he wasn't going to refuse. Neither said anything for long minutes and John was on the brink of sleep when he heard her quiet voice murmur something into his shoulder. He jerked awake and turned to her, mumbling an apology.

"Elizabeth – is she someone you care about?"

He frowned.

"How did you...?"

"You were calling for her while they were..."

He frowned at that for a moment before clarity struck.

"It was you, wasn't it?" She hesitated a moment before nodding tightly against his arm and he sighed loudly. "Are you okay? I saw what they were doing to you... I thought..."

"You thought it was your Elizabeth?" He nodded. "I believe what you saw was worse than what they did."

He couldn't be placated by her words; instead, he pulled away from her slightly and studied her face, his fingers running along where he knows she was punched. She flinched when his fingers skimmed her jaw, almost purple now and he pulled his fingers away.

"What else did they do to you?"

She sat up slightly, her arm slipping from him and shook her head. He could see her pulling away from him but he did not know her well enough to demand she look at him. He didn't even know her name. It was probably easier not to know.

"Nothing that I cannot bear on my own."

He wanted to say her name, to urge her to tell him what had been done to her but he didn't – _couldn't_. He watched her for a few moments as she studiously avoided his gaze. He wanted to shrug but his shoulder was stiff and he simply turned away, settling once more against the wall. Several minutes later, she did too.

Minutes passed by into hours and John still watched the light from the door as shadows moved across it. What he wouldn't give for a moment of clarity, a little more strength, a fighting chance to get the fuck out of this hell hole. He sighed and dropped his head onto the top of the woman's, nestling into her hair for warmth. Night must have fallen, he realised, because the temperature had dipped by what felt like fifty degrees. She shivered against him, her teeth chattering and he struggled to tuck her closer to him, rubbing his hands as much as he could across her back. She did the same to his waist and sides, his arms and he was eternally grateful for whatever heat the friction gave him.

"What about you?" He murmured some time near dawn when he felt her shift beneath him again. He could feel her turn her head up to look at his face and he looked down at her slightly, his nose tickled by her hair. "Do you have someone you care about?"

She stiffened in his arms but did not move from them. He heard her sigh; trying to gather the energy to mutter the words and John gripped her tighter. He watched the puffs of air leave her mouth in a white cloud, his mirroring it a few moments later.

"His name is Kanaan. He was among the first to be taken."

John could have kicked himself. He ducked his head further into hers before leaning it back against the wall, his thoughts drifting to Elizabeth. She was the only thing, he knows, that would pull him through this. He couldn't imagine what would happen if he didn't have that hope to cling to, like the woman in his arms. He couldn't imagine losing Elizabeth, especially not in a situation like this one.

"We'll get out of this, I promise."

-

"Sir." Acastus Kolya looked up from his work station, the words on the pad in front of him momentarily forgotten.

"What is it?" He demanded as he looked up to the young woman who'd interrupted his rest.

"There is a ship in orbit, Sir."

He nodded and dismissed her before letting the smile stretch across his aged face.

"Right on time," he mused as he stood up and left his office.


	7. Part 6

_Why then 'tis none to you;  
for there is nothing either good or __bad__,  
but thinking makes it so. _

Evan Lorne did not like waiting around. They'd stepped through the 'Gate onto M1X-764 only to be scooped up by the Daedalus as they ventured off to find Ronon Dex at his last known co-ordinates. Lorne had argued with Elizabeth Weir through the Daedalus' deep-space communication system that it was more than highly unlikely that Dex would still be there.

When Colonel Sheppard's team had come across the man from Sateda, he'd been a Wraith Runner, hunted by the Wraith for sport. He'd been offered refuge in Atlantis, a place on one of the teams (both Sheppard and Lorne had been bidding for him to join theirs) but the Satedan had chosen to go it alone and instead of being the hunted, he'd become a hunter. Lorne knew there were a few hunters out there, but he'd always assumed they'd had little effect on the overall battle.

_"Intel suggests he's still there."_

Lorne had been against letting Ronon go in the first place. One, he was too good an asset to give up and two, he knew about Atlantis. They did not know the Satedan, so how could they trust him? Colonel Sheppard had said three words to Weir and any protestations that any other member of the team uttered were brushed aside.

Lorne didn't really have any misgivings about Weir and Sheppard's relationship; like many he was glad they'd found happiness in one another but it pissed him the hell off when she refused to listen to anyone else's opinions but the Colonel's. Lorne was second in command of the military expedition so he knew his opinions had weight – Sheppard listened to him, trusted him with his life – but Lorne wondered if the leader of Atlantis did.

"We've reached the co-ordinates."

Lorne turned to the young Lieutenant who's approached him and he nodded in her direction, moving to the centre of the bridge.

"Major," Colonel Caldwell greeted him with a nod from his position in the Commanders chair. Lorne returned the greeting and stood to attention as the F-304 dropped from hyperspace. It was a sight that still sent tingles down his spine and he often stood in wonderment for a few minutes when he saw a new planet stretched out beneath him. "Ronon Dex, this is Colonel Caldwell of the Lantean vessel, Daedalus do you read?"

Lorne waited with bated breath. If Dex wasn't on the planet then they'd wasted three hours in which they could have been to the planet to check out the beacon that the City's long range scanners had picked up. Lorne could feel his heart rate increasing with each passing second they waited for a response and he was mentally going through the list of things he was going to say to Weir when they got back to Atlantis.

"Ronon Dex, do you read?"

Lorne could hear the almost desperate tone of Caldwell's voice and he turned to the older man, connecting their eyes with a knowing look passing between them. He saw Caldwell shake his head and he knew exactly what the Colonel was thinking; it was the exact same thing Lorne had known since they'd been beamed on board the Daedalus.

"He's not here."

Lorne ground his back teeth together to keep the groan of annoyance from escaping past his lips.

"Maybe we should give him a few more moments, sir?" Novak spoke over the radio but Caldwell shook his head.

"Negative." He turned to the woman on his right. "Get us out of here."

Lorne saw the planet dip from his vision and he slumped against the control panel behind him, his head hanging low on his chest. Three hours for a wasted journey. He shook his head.

"Engaging hyper drive."

"This is Dex," a deep voice sounded over the radio and Lorne bolted upright his head turning to Caldwell.

"Double back," he told the navigator who Lorne was sure glared back at him.

"Ronon Dex, this is Colonel Steven Caldwell."

"I heard you the first time."

"Took you enough time to respond," Lorne muttered darkly.

"I was busy." There was a steady silence, one that no one seemed to want to fill. "What's up?" Dex asked eventually.

Lorne and Caldwell exchanged glances again before Caldwell replied;

"We need your help."

-

"Your world seems a strange place to me."

John smiled over at her from his place against the wall near the door. He'd spent the last hour or so telling her things about Earth; things he enjoyed, things he didn't enjoy, different countries, Ferris Wheels... She seemed quite taken and after he had finished telling her his stories, she'd become contemplative and silent. He'd let do it because he couldn't really think of anything else to say, anything else to ask her about her world.

"The idea of not knowing everyone is astounding to me, I cannot..." She trailed off, shaking her head as a slight smile graced her lips.

John had come to realise the night before just how attractive she was when the lights had come on – and stayed on the whole night. Despite the scratches and bruises adorning it, her face was beautiful. Her dark eyes were rimmed with long dark lashes that touched her cheeks when she closed her eyes. Her hands, though rough and calloused, were elegant but strong and John could tell from her stance that she was either a dancer, or a warrior. Given the situation – and the fact that he was in Pegasus – he'd bet on the latter. She was petite but she didn't look it; he'd only realised it the night before when she'd wrapped her arm around his waist and all but dragged him to the corner of the room they'd made into their 'bedroom'.

He'd been taken again by his captors and beaten with something akin to a log used in some Highland Games that Carson had made them watch that time they'd gone to Earth on the Daedalus for some much needed R&R. He'd been pretty sure his ribs were broken, maybe his pelvis too but they'd put him in some kind of stasis pod afterwards that looked remarkably like an alien egg and he'd come out tired, sore but not broken.

"Yeah, it is a bit over-whelming," he muttered and smiled when she looked up at him. "But where I'm from just now, where my people are," he continued, careful not to use the word _Atlantis, _"is different. There's only a handful of us, a couple of hundred at the most," at her frown he made a mental note to explain numbers to her later. "We all know each other, at least by sight. Some of the scientists stay holed up in their labs until Marines come and haul their asses back to their quarters," he continued with a slight smile, thinking about McKay and the numerous times he had sent two burly Marines to his lab to do just that to the scientist. McKay had never quite forgiven him for it, yet.

"And it is in this place that your Elizabeth is?" John looked at her, startled. He hadn't really thought about Elizabeth for a couple of days and the mention of her name opened up deep wounds in his heart. He'd never forgive himself if he didn't get out this alive and tell her just what she meant to him. "Why do you not stay on your world?"

John looked up at her and shrugged, his lips scrunching together.

"We're explorers... We can't do much exploring sitting on our asses back home, can we?"

She smiled with half her mouth and John matched it with a half smile of his own. He stilled, though, when he heard footsteps outside the door, marching in groups of two and three. He caught her eye and she slid further back to the corner of the room; she was still to beaten up to mount any kind of resistance if they decided to take her instead of John.

The door swung open to reveal the one that John thought was the leader with two burly looking men on either side of him, a couple more in the back. John didn't like the look of the weapon he had in his hand. He met the man's eye and he smirked, signalling with his head for the soldiers to enter. John let them haul him off the floor but when he saw three move to the back of the room to the woman, he began to resist.

"No! She's not fit for this, let her go!"

She didn't resist however and let them drag her until she was beside John. She caught his eye but quickly looked away. John growled at the leader of the group who quickly struck out at John, catching him on the eyebrow with the butt of his John. John's world went dizzy but it did not blacken and he was glad. He focussed back on the leader and snarled at him, knowing his act would do no good.

"_Bastard_," he muttered as he was dragged past him and down the corridor.

John had tried to memorise the layout of the corridors whenever he'd been taken away but each time they took him, they went in a different direction and John quickly lost his bearings. They led him and the woman up some stairs, then down another set that looked remarkably like a fire escape. They were tugged out onto a balcony and below them was a large room that looked like it had once been used for storage. Behind him, the woman hissed and John's arms reacted instinctively as he turned to help her. He caught her eye and she mouthed to him;

"Wraith."

John tried to catch sight of the Wraith as they pulled him down stairs, dragged him across the empty room, making a mental note to ask her how the hell she knew that. From a door on the far side of the room, a figure emerged, black against the startling light of the room and John felt something akin to dread – or maybe it was hatred – wash through his body when he recognised the figure.

_No_, he thought, _not Wraith. _

"Michael."


	8. Part 7

Title: Tainted Survival, part 7  
Summary: For it is a knell that summons thee to heaven or to hell...  
Characters: Beckett, McKay, Weir, Lorne  
Rating: K+-T

_I go, and it is done; the bell invites me.  
Hear it not, Duncan, for it is a knell  
That summons thee to heaven or to hell._

Carson sighed and rubbed a weary hand over tired eyes. He'd gone over and over test results on specimens that he'd put in the back of his cupboard months before but he was taking none of his readings in. His mind had wandered ceaselessly since Major Lorne and his team stepped through the 'Gate. Carson was not a stupid man, he knew that he was more than likely going to be dealing with some serious injuries when the team returned whether they found the missing members of the expedition or not. Things never happened quite as planned in and around Atlantis and Carson was trying to prepare himself.

Rodney had come and gone at least three times every hour since the team had left a day before and as much as Carson enjoyed their banter, he'd wanted some time to himself. Even Rodney's digs at the medical profession lacked their usual malice and it indicated to Carson just how useless Rodney felt. The two had connected, despite what Rodney said, even when they worked in Antarctica. They'd spent many a night talking about Rodney's heritage, right back to his Scottish roots from generations before and in one of the Canadians drunker moments, he'd told Carson how glad he was that they'd become friends because Rodney hadn't had many when he was younger.

He sighed and tried not to smile at the memory, his mind loosing focus on the work in front of him again. The infirmary outside his office was bustling as always. The expedition to Atlantis may be small but filled with the most intelligent people in the world but they lacked common sense. Dr Brown had cut her finger on the thorns of some alien rose and had felt sick ever since, Captain Conway had tripped up the stairs and had sprained her ankle and Rodney had... he trailed off with an eye roll when he saw Rodney walking through the double doors, cradling his hand. Carson stood, trying to keep the smile from his face as he moved towards him.

"What happened this time, Rodney?" He asked as he manoeuvred the scientist to a bed.

"I electrocuted myself, just a little but I feel really..." he made a face to indicate the dizziness and Carson did roll his eyes.

"I'm sure it's nothing, Rodney."

Rodney didn't disagree and Carson met his eyes. He smiled sadly, knowing false reassurances were not what he needed. Rodney hadn't really been the same since his team had gone missing and Carson knew he was close to giving up hope. They'd followed leads everywhere that always lead to nowhere.

"I should be out there," he muttered as he looked away, his blue eyes misty and jaw working on his teeth. Carson didn't say anything as he hooked him up to a heart monitor, finding a strange sort of peace in the rhythmic 'beep-beep' that sounded through their small area. "I guess I really am fine."

Carson nodded.

"Rodney..."

"It's all right, Carson... I'm just tired, is all I guess."

Carson nodded.

"Probably. And hungry; when was the last time you ate?"

"Are you kidding? I've been eating since they left."

"Something other than dessert?" Rodney eyed him sheepishly. "I thought so." He snapped off his gloves and unhooked Rodney. "Let's go."

Rodney remained seated and frowned at Carson.

"Where?"

"To the mess hall..." He drawled slowly, his eyebrow rising of its own accord. He saw Rodney begin to shake his head when the alarms stated ringing loudly down the corridors.

"Off world activation," Rodney muttered as he stared upwards as though he'd be able to see through the floor at who was stepping through. He looked back to Carson who too was looking up, waiting to hear if he'd be called. "Off world activation..." Rodney muttered again as he hopped off the bed, poised to run. They waited. Seconds passed and they watched one another, breaths held in their throats.

"Medical team to the gate room!"

They ran.

"Major Lorne, what the hell happened?"

Lorne looked up at her with a desolate stare, blood trickling down his eyebrow and shook his head. Elizabeth knew shock when she saw it and the entire team seemed to be suffering from it. The Gate snapped shut and she ran down the stair way to the team, to the bodies littered across the floor and she felt the panic rise in her chest, the lump climbing its way up her throat.

"Oh my God..."


	9. Part 8

Title: Tainted Survival, part 8  
Summary: He didn't try to reassure her that it was okay and for that, she was glad.  
Characters: Rodney, Elizabeth & Lorne  
Pairing: John/Elizabeth  
Rating: T-M for gory-ness.

Elizabeth vomited. Everything that was inside her came out, tears streaming down her face as she gagged, retching into the bowl. She sobbed, hiccupping, her watery breaths echoing off the porcelain bowl and ringing in her ears. There was a knock at the door behind her but she ignored it, emptying the last contents of her stomach. The knock persisted and she flushed, wiping her eyes with the back of her hands.

"Elizabeth?"

It was Rodney. She stood and opened the door, greeted with Rodney's equally pale face, his haunted cloudy eyes.

She pushed past him to the washer on the wall and splashed water on her face, trying to push the image that had greeted her in the control room from her mind. She felt Rodney's hands on her shoulder and she met his eyes in the mirror, his reflection hazy from her unbidden tears. She felt sick again. She leaned forward, breaking contact with him and scooped water into her mouth, swirling it, spitting it out.

"We don't know that it's him," Rodney spoke quietly and Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself against the basin, her knuckles white. She sobbed, gasping for breath, the tears drifting from her eyes.

That was just it, though. They didn't know. It could be any one of them; three bodies, withered shells, their skin from their faces and fingers cracked and flaking off, the bone beneath visible to her eyes. They were unrecognisable; Carson had taken them away to the infirmary for an autopsy.

She tried not to let herself think that it could be him. There were no dog tags on any of them, no jackets or boots, just tattered remains of black t-shirts and torn combat trousers. No hair, no face... nothing to indicate that it was him – nothing to indicate that it wasn't.

Her stomach rolled again.

"Rodney..." It came out a whisper, wavering and betraying the inner turmoil. He turned her to him, awkwardly wrapping his arms around her; it was comforting, but not what she needed – not John. She sobbed into his shoulder. "It can't be him," she murmured, the words muffled against his jacket. "It can't be him, it can't be him..." she chanted breathlessly, the tears rolling down her cheeks, melting into Rodney's jacket.

"Shh..." he tried to soothe her, awkwardly patting her back.

He didn't try to reassure her that it would be okay and for that, she was glad.

-

Evan Lorne wanted to be sick. He couldn't stop shaking. His fingers shuddered as he tried to unzip his jacket; they wavered when they reached for the hem of his t-shirt. His mind drifted, never settling on one thought for too long – too afraid in case the sight of what they discovered reached his mind's eye. He _had _been sick when he saw the bodies, dried from too much sun on the radiated planet, withered from being def on by the Wraith, the locating beacon stuffed into one of the open mouths.

They were his men, his friends, every one of them who had gone on that mission. It didn't matter to him who they were, he knew it would be bad. He knew them all. He was friends with them all. Ford, Aitken, Levek, Sheppard... His blood jittered its way through his veins, throbbing at his temples and he closed his eyes – but only for a moment.

He knew he'd be having nightmares when he went to sleep.

It wasn't all of them and he was torn between hope and despair. He hoped beyond all belief that the others were alive, that they'd find them; but he wasn't sure if the ones they'd found were the lucky ones. What he saw – not all of it was caused by the Sun. He knew that. There were puncture wounds in the skin, he had seen them and he only hoped they'd been put there by scavengers post-mortem.

The alternative coiled his gut.

He stepped under the steaming spray of the shower, hissing as the heat speared through him, melting into his stiff muscles. He sagged under the pressure, leaning his head against the wet tiled wall, hoping the noise of the cascading water hid the sounds of his wracking sobs.

-


	10. Part 9

Title: Tainted Survival, part 10  
Summary: When she looked up at the name, he wondered what the hell was going on.  
Characters: Teyla, John & Michael  
Pairing: John-Teyla, Michael-Teyla  
Rating: T

"And what is this one?" Michael said as he walked around the woman, sniffing the air as he did so. John tried his best not to lash out at Earth's biggest mistake but when he saw her flinch at his probing hand, John struggled against his captors. Michael laughed and John struggled more, the grip of his captors tightening. "I see you still have your spirit, Colonel Sheppard."

John flinched as Michael came towards him, his hybrid features eerily pale in the bright light. John struggled again, despite the vice like grip and he was rewarded with a punch to the gut. He doubled over and groaned, the pain in his already aching body heightening at the contact. He could hear her voice calling to him, shouting at the others over the sound of blood rushing through his ears but it did no good. His already light head felt airy and empty and the world around him dimmed at the corners.

"What have you done to him?" He could hear Michael ask and he thought for a moment he heard genuine concern in his voice before he felt something sharp against his neck. He managed to look up at Michael, to the arm he held outstretched to John's body and he grunted. "Do not worry, Colonel," Michael said, his voice almost mocking, "this will only take a moment."

His world went dark.

--

Teyla struggled against her captors when she saw his knees buckle and his body sag to the floor. The creature before her – something caught between Wraith and human – hissed in pleasure at the sight of the man crumpled on the floor and Teyla yelled out when he kicked him in the stomach.

It only drew the one named Michael's attention back to her and she blanched momentarily. When he rounded her again, she held her head high, her chin pointed fully into the air. But as his hands traced along the edges of her arms and waist, she shuddered, faltering slightly before drawing herself tall again; she could not show weakness. Not to this creature.

"What is your name?" She stuck her chin out and defiantly did not answer. It only caused him to laugh. "You are not from Atlantis," he said as though curious about her and Teyla frowned at the words. "And yet here you are with those of his kind." A long, cold finer stroked down her cheek and Teyla bit her lip to stop it from trembling. The creature laughed, the sound hollow in the vast room. "They do not appreciate us," Michael said close to her ear and she could not suppress the shudder as his cold breath washed over her neck. "Those of his kind look down upon us." Teyla did not turn to him as he circled her again; she was well versed in the tactics of the Wraith and she would not fall prey to him. As she looked at the blank faces of the men around her she wondered how they had come to be in leagues with this. "Does he know what you are?"

Teyla turned to him then, the question unspoken on her lips. As he circled her, it arose unbidden from her throat and spilled out into the air;

"I am not like you."

He laughed again and stopped in front of her, his pale face inches from hers.

"You are more like me than you know." He quirked a half smile at her and she recoiled, hitting her back against the solid chest of the man behind her. She flinched at the contact, the skin on her back burning against her clothing. "Take them back to their cells," said Michael as he walked away. "I will return."

--

"_To die, to sleep;  
__To sleep: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;  
__For in that sleep of death what dreams may come"_

Dreams, shattered images pierced his unconscious. Fragments of people, places events flitted across his mind too quick to grip on to, to fleeting to see.

_Elizabeth. "You're in love with her, aren't you?"_

_The girl, calling his name, the room familiar but forgotten._

_Rodney. "You look like hell."_

Struggling, he swam through the memories, called to the surface by a gentle touch against his skin. His mind resisted, tumultuous waves crashing over him.

_Fear. Unbridled passionate fear. For her, for him, for what they should have been. _

"_I like, uh, Ferris Wheels and, uh, college football; anything that goes more than two hundred miles per hour."_

He gasped awake, his eyes scanning the dingy dark room and instantly he missed the constraints of his unconscious. Missed the warmth of sleep, the bliss of ignorance. Her face peered down at him, curious and cautious, her mouth forming words he couldn't hear. Blood pounded to his arms and legs and he bolted upright, the foggy remnants of dreams fading away.

Michael.

_Michael. Michael Kenmore. _

_But not Michael Kenmore. Just Michael; half human, half Wraith – their creation. For a moment, he'd felt like God, watching his ideas spring to life._

He pounced from the bed to the door, banging fruitlessly against the solid metal, willing his voice to work, to call out to the guards, to demand answers. Who was she? Why was she here? Why was Michael here? Were they all Wraith worshippers? Had he been so very wrong about her?

After long minutes he turned, leaning heavily against the door and opened his eyes. She was watching him, almost afraid, definitely cautious and he eyed her – watched her watch him. Her fingers rose to her face and she pursed her lips.

"_Your leader looks through me as though I am not there."_

The voice, so familiar, startled him and he wondered briefly if she had spoken. Her quiet face stared back at him curiously, her dark eyes twinkling in the dim light of his room.

Suddenly, he felt like he knew her.

He took a step towards her but stopped.

"_I am Teyla Emmagan, daughter of Tagan."_

"Teyla?"

When she looked up at the name, he wondered what the hell was going on.

_Be all my sins rememer'd._


End file.
